Attachments
by Athena's phoenix
Summary: Reassigned to the continent of North America, Grell is on duty during the Games. As he recalls his Jack the Ripper days, he's struck by the inspiration to create more lovely red masterpieces. After all, the first time he and Madam Red broke the law was about children as well, and Grell doesn't think that she would be too pleased with how this country is run. (one-shot)


Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own either, obviously...Although my goal is to become an author and write fanfics about my own stories. XD It'd be hilarious to get reviews saying that the characters are OOC. Lol.

A/N: hello, and welcome to 'Attachments'. This is a kuroshitsuji/ hunger games crossover, so be prepared for that stuff. It's pre-canon for HG, post-canon (anime) for kuro, with lots of Grell. XD After all, most (and notice that I say MOST here, not all) fandoms are better with a little bit of Grell thrown in. :D

So, enjoy!

(WARNING FOR GRELL-RELATED VIOLENCE)

* * *

Grell gazed silently at the small body at his feet. For once, he couldn't even bring himself to appreciate the beauty of the murder he had come upon; the flecks of blood on death-pale flesh, the splashes that sparkled on the sand or the long, red-steeped hair that fanned out around the tiny girl...

She was so very young...

All he could think was how Madam Red would have reacted, had she come upon a scene like this. He shuddered. She had _murdered_ for _unborn_ children, and she had _died_ for her nephew...

_No._ He shook himself. _Just concentrate on the job._

He bent down and gently made a knick with the blade of his death scythe. The girl's memories rushed out to meet him, and they were filled with pain, misery, and death. Deaths of family and friends... So much that Grell almost wished that he hadn't been transferred to this continent. Almost... but not quite. Because he was Grell Sutcliff, and he was not afraid of _breaking rules_.

As the idea formed in his mind, his lips slid back in a grin, revealing shark-like teeth that glinted in the pseudo-desert sun.

"Oh, Madam... This is for you..."

It was time for a reemergence of "Jack the Ripper", and he cared _nothing_ for the consequences. He had done this once before... but this time, he was going to go after a different set of victims.

The shinigami turned and raced away towards the artificial forest, leaping to the trees, and away, away, away. Eventually he came to arrive in the city, invisible to human eyes (Although even if he hadn't been, he probably wouldn't have stood out at all. That was the one thing that he might miss after he destroyed this country). But oh, it would be so much _fun_, and he could create so many beautiful red masterpieces.

He cackled, and for a moment he sounded like the Undertaker before he lapsed into his typical giggles. Grell raced over rooftops to the building which he sought. The grandest of them all, reserved for those in power...

And he leapt straight through the plate-glass window, sending glittering shards of glass in all directions. As the white-haired man in the office looked up, the blindingly red being appeared before his eyes.

President Snow pressed a button on his desk, and sat back smugly to wait for the guards that he knew were coming. And if the red-haired man with the chainsaw (he drew the obvious conclusions at the sight of the weapon) made any moves before then, there was always the gun he kept strapped under the desk.

"You won't succeed," he said, "I've had many attempts on my life, and you can see that I'm still here."

Grell smiled and sat back to wait; the guards would only bring more fun to his amusing little pastime.

"It only takes one attempt to ruin that type of record," he said gleefully.

Then the guards rushed in, guns drawn, and hurried to stand between the reaper and their leader.

Grell twirled his chainsaw idly as they opened fire, and the bullets bounced off of the metal blade without leaving a scratch (not that they could kill him, but getting shot did hurt like a bitch). Then he grew bored, and, moving at a speed barely visible to human eyes, made his move. He blurred, and seemed to reappear instantaneously next to the cluster of guards. Crimson splattered on the walls, and Grell giggled as he swung his blade in erratic arcs. The thrill of breaking Shinigami code and of creating such beauty that was rarely achieved in everyday work was such that, soon, only Snow remained. The usually icy man stood, back pressed against the wall, looking into the face of death.

"Heeheehee..."

The chainsaw howled as it sliced through air; growled as it met resistance.

It was a masterpiece worthy of Jack the Ripper; crimson glittered over shards of glass, and glistened on every surface. Madam Red would be proud...

Madam Red. He had done this for her, in her honor...

Grell sighed.

It had been centuries since her death... So why did her memory still plague him so? Why must he dwell on thoughts of his once-partner in crime?

He leaned wearily against the freshly painted wall and closed his eyes in contemplation.

Angelina Durless. His Madam Red. She had betrayed him, turning her back on their partnership and siding with Phantomhive...

Or...

Had it really been that way? He hardly dared to think it... but... Could _he_ have betrayed _her_? Grell had spilt her blood, not the other way around. But she had abandoned him, and backed out of their endeavor. Yet...the cinematic records all showed that most humans placed a great deal of value on family. So when it came down to it—him or Ciel—had there really been no choice at all? It...It was hard to imagine, but perhaps she had not actually cared for his company as he had hers. She had been the first person that he felt he could actually _talk _to, about _anything_, since...since the beginning of his existence as a reaper.

Grell was different, and he knew it, but he didn't care. He _liked _who he was, for the most part. He liked his _personality_. Yet he was the only one to feel that way—until he met Madam Red, someone who understood; someone who enjoyed his company, for he could always cheer her up like nothing else. She had been something of a friend, he supposed; a companion who had others in her life that mattered to her, unlike Grell who had no true attachments to anyone else.

So, perhaps he had been in the wrong. But there was nothing he could do about it now! Even if he hadn't killed her, she'd still have been dead for centuries. So why couldn't he forget her?

Grell growled and pushed off from the wall, opening his eyes. Stalking around the room, tracking bloody footprints over the parts of the cream carpet that had been left unstained, he tried to think of what to do. There was nothing that he could do about...the...guilt...that haunted him, but there was still a country that he had to tear down.

The grin slid back onto his face, and he gazed around the office one last time. _Lovely._

Then he quickly gathered all of the fallen guns, and turned back to the window. As he took to the rooftops again, the plan formed more fully in his mind. If he wanted anything to change, long-term, he would need to start a revolution. But he would need more than just these handguns. As he took off once again, this time toward a military base, he thought that soon the government would be in a state of mild chaos. This would be the perfect moment for attacks to come from all sides...

Almost skipping at the thought, he raced away at speeds that rendered him invisible to all but the two demons who had observed the event.

Ciel turned to Sebastian.

"All right. I've seen enough."

And with little more than as softly murmured, "Yes, my young lord" they were soon gone as well.

Three days later found Grell sitting dejectedly in a swivel chair, glaring at the scene in front of him. It was disgusting, horrifying at best. It was a desk, covered in piles upon piles of forms that Grell would have to take care of. Really! Reassigned to do paperwork! This must be the worst punishment that he was ever assigned! And all he did was change the face of a continent and kill humans not on the to die list... and give the shinigami that were actually allowed to do their job extra work. Moodily, Grell dangled the pen in front of his face. He quite wanted to throw it at the wall.

But _no_. That would be _pointless_. Glaring at the paperwork, Grell slumped over the desk and pulled the nearest stack towards him.

* * *

A/N: All-righty, then! What do you think? Is Grell too OOC?

'Cause as much as I love him, I have no experience writing his character beyond this fic.

Anyway, I had fun writing this and it'd be great if anyone enjoyed reading it. Please give me feedback and let me know how I can improve, and such.

And...That's all I have to say. Thanks for reading!


End file.
